Honolulu Star-Advertiser © Susan Scott
September 27, 1999
LAST month, when a young red-footed booby from Hawaii hitched a ride on a sailboat bound for Alaska, the story made nationwide news.
According to reports, the tropical seabird, which had been following the boat, got into trouble when a ferocious storm struck. Cold, tired and hungry, the youngster took refuge on the nearby boat.
Kindly sailors aboard gave the beat-up booby a lift, then delivered it to wildlife authorities in Alaska. Soon, after some nourishment and rest, the bedraggled bird was winging its way back to Hawaii — but not in its usual fashion. This booby came home in a pet carrier under the airplane seat of a Hawaii wildlife worker. The bird is now recuperating nicely on Maui and should be released in about a week.
While I was discussing this story with an ornithologist friend, she wondered why this particular bird got so much attention. After all, she reasoned, the world is full of far more remarkable wildlife stories.
We talked about a few possibilities, such as people’s heightened awareness of wildlife and the charming temperament of this particular species. But there’s another reason. I think this bird got a lot of press because people like its name.
Let’s face it. Of all seabird names in the world, booby is the most fun. Try saying this: “Look, two boobies just landed on the aft rail!” It makes me smile just writing it. And back in 1988, when I wrote a story about two such boobies, it made other people smile too.
I had been writing this column for about a year, typing it aboard my sailboat, then hand delivering the pages to the Star-Bulletin city desk each week. For one column, I wrote about two red-footed booby birds that hitched a ride on my sailboat. At the time, the boat was about 1,000 miles from the nearest land, so the birds were welcome visitors.
I didn’t know much about seabirds then and was dismayed when the boobies completely ignored my offerings of bread and fresh water. Most seabirds, I later learned, eat fish and invertebrates and drink seawater in the process.
Those two personable red-footed boobies perched on our aft rail for 48 hours, watching our every move, first with one eye, then the other. Once, I sat on the aft deck and took a seawater bath right under their noses. The boobies were so unafraid, I could easily have reached out and touched them.
THIS fearlessness is where the birds got their goofy name. Because boobies nest on remote islands and have no natural predators, they are not afraid of humans. Such tameness led to easy capture by 18th century sailors who called them boobies because they thought the birds were stupid. The word comes from bobo, meaning dunce in Spanish.
It was a lonely moment for my partner and I when, abruptly, both boobies spread their wings and disappeared over the horizon.
A year later, I wrote a column about the experience. On the day the story ran, I walked into the newsroom and several people started laughing.
“Nice column,” someone said, smiling.
“Yeah,” someone else grinned. “Good one.”
Something was up. Just as I was starting to feel paranoid, editor John Flanagan, chuckling, handed me a paper. And there was the headline of my career: “Two boobies win the hearts of lonely sailors.”
They changed that heading for the next edition but I still have the original. Looking at that clipping not only reminds me of how wonderful booby birds are, but also how much fun it’s been writing these columns for the Star-Bulletin.
I’m going to miss it dearly.